


Don't Let Me Go

by serenadreams



Category: Castle
Genre: 5 sentences, Angst, Character Death, Drabble Collection, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 14:31:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1188699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenadreams/pseuds/serenadreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bunch of caskett drabbles, based on prompts from other sites.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> These are just really, really random pointless little drabbles. But I thought I might as well post them all in one place. And I'm sorry about the second one, but it just sort of happened. 
> 
> Let me know what you think? ;)

_**Prompt: Kate wears Rick's clothes.** _

* * *

 

The first time she wears his clothes, it’s that white shirt on that first morning. It’s still her favorite, the one she’ll pick to wear to bed. He doesn’t even wear it himself anymore, accepting that she’s adopted it.

 

The second time she wears his clothes; it’s simply a pair of socks that keep sliding down her calves as she races to answer the door on a cold Sunday morning. She slides across the polished floors like a child, hurrying to deal with whoever it is that’s dragged her out of the warmth of their bed.

 

The third time she wears his clothes, it’s a suit jacket he wraps around her shoulders as they leave a book launch. Neither of them say anything, but he smiles and she leans into him, her head resting on his shoulder as they wait on the sidewalk for their car.

 

The fourth time she wears his clothes, it’s a whole ensemble. She wakes up naked and cold, his side of the bed empty and the sounds of cooking coming from the kitchen. So she grabs the first items of clothes she can reach, and pulls them on without really looking. She doesn’t notice that she’s wearing his t-shirt and a pair of his boxers until Martha gives her an odd look as she emerges in search of breakfast. She blushes, but doesn’t bother to change.

 

The fifth time she wears his clothes is the last time that’s memorable. Because after that she does it so often that single moments no longer stand out in their significance. Everything she owns is getting too tight, her shirts pull taught over her quickly expanding belly, and the buckles on her pants dig in painfully. The only thing she owns that’s comfortable is a pair of leggings, and after an hour of searching for a sweater to pair them with, she gives up and grabs one of his. Pulling it over her head, she sighs happily as it falls loosely against her stomach. She wears his clothes almost every day after that. And even after she gives birth to their son, she doesn’t break the habit. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.

_**Prompt: Tragedy strikes at their wedding.** _

* * *

This was supposed to be the happiest day of her life. Isn’t that what they say?

 

Don’t most brides get to dress up in their beautiful dress, whisper ‘I do’ and kiss the man they’ve decided to spend the rest of their life with? Isn’t that what’s supposed to happen?

 

So why is she here? Why is her pretty dress stained red? Why are her fingers, adorned with a brand new ring, carding through blood soaked hair? Why are her ears filled with the sounds of screaming instead of cheering? Why is the makeup Lanie spent so long getting perfect, staining her cheeks?

 

Why?

 

She holds him to her, his head against her chest.

 

She talks to him, she tells him about the life they’re going to have together, as husband and wife. She tells him of the children they’re going to have, the little boy she’ll let him name something ridiculous after one of his favorite writers, the little girl they’ll name after her mother. She doesn’t stop talking, doesn’t stop planning, even as she rocks his lifeless body in her arms.

 

She’s unaware of the chaos around her. The crying, the screaming, the pain. She hasn’t felt it yet. She _mustn’t_ feel it. Because it’s going to kill her.

 

So she pretends; she closes her eyes, rests her nose against his neck, breathes in his familiar aftershave and _pretends_.

 

But then there are hands grabbing her, trying to pull her to her feet, away from _him._ She screams, guttural and wild, fighting them off. She hears distant voices, she knows they’re talking to her but she can barely hear.

 

“Kate, Kate, Kate, Kate.” Someone’s saying her name, over and over. But it’s not the right voice, it’s not the person she needs to hear.

 

“You’re going to be alright, Kate.”

 

“You have to let him go sweetheart.”

 

She holds him tighter, curling her body around his protectively.

 

There’s a moment of silence, a blissful moment of solitude, where it’s just her and him and everything’s okay. They’re okay. He’s okay. But then the voices are back. And the hands are rough when they grab her this time. She fights as hard as she can. She kicks and bites but there're too many, and she’s being pulled away fromhim, too fast, too far. She’s held down, blurry eyes seeing nothing but shapes and figures above her. More voices, her name again, again, again.

 

She screams, as loud as she can because don’t they understand? She has to get back to him. He’ll be fine if she can just hold him. They’ll stay there forever and they’ll be just fine. 

 

A face, but not the one she needs, hovers above her. Too close, too different. It’s not right. She throws her head to the side, and then she sees them, Alexis and Martha. They’re crying too. They’re watching at her, and they’re crying and she knows why, but it can’t be real. It can’t, it can’t.

 

 But it is, it’s real. It’s so real and it’s too real and _it’s going to kill her_. She’s choking on her own tears. She can’t breathe, she can’t feel, she can’t move.

  

_But it's real_. And so when she feels the needle slip into her arm, she welcomes it. The silence, the emptiness. The never-ending _nothing._ She welcomes it and she prays, _prays_ that she’ll never wake up.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is random. And old.

* * *

One of his favorite things is when she gets home late for whatever reason. There’s a familiarity to her routine. The way she shrugs off her coat, leaving it with her bag by the door, the way she tiptoes into the bathroom to brush her teeth, and then the closet to get changed. The way she slips into bed beside him, being as quiet as she can, but burrowing close to him, resting her cold toes against his calves.

He always wakes, but pretends he doesn’t. He simply pulls her closer, his eyes remaining closed, and breathes easier for the few minutes before he falls back to sleep.

*

One of her favorite things is going home to him after a long day, slipping into bed beside him, curling into his warmth, the way he pulls her close, the safety she feels that she can’t get anywhere else, even while holding her gun and badge. She breathes easier when she’s with him. 

 


End file.
